Salt in the Wound
by AgathokakologicalMe
Summary: What ever happened to "It'll hurt like hell"? After a ghost-crazed Sam shoots Dean in the chest with a rock salt-stuffed buckshot, Dean has to deal with the pain. But is a little salt in the wound all that's bothering the older Winchester? A one-shot missing scene from season 1, episode 10 "Asylum". Rated T for mild violence and language. Disclaimer: I don't own anything.


Salt in the Wound

A Supernatural fanfiction, missing scene from S1 E10: Asylum

It was dark by the time the Winchesters made it back to the motel in Rockford, Illinois. Dust from the floor of the Roosevelt Sanitarium still clung in patches to their clothes despite their best efforts at dusting themselves off; filthy and exhausted, Dean just wanted those simplest of comforts even a cheap-ass motel could offer- a shower and a real bed. His muscles ached, his chest burned, and he really needed to sneeze. As soon as the Impala was parked he stumbled out, then after a pause reached into the back seat for an extra duffle bag. Better safe than sorry.

Sam was already inside the dark room when Dean shuffled in, flinging the duffle onto the far bed before sending it bouncing as he flung himself next to it. A click, and a low but steady light flooded from one corner of the room.

"Did you get the shotguns?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes and thought he had had enough to do with salt-loaded shotguns to last him a few days, but all he said was "Nope."

"I'll get them," Sam offered, and caught the keys thrown at him as he stepped outside.

As much as he wanted to close his eyes and just drift off into blissful unconsciousness, Dean knew his chest would be far worse in the morning if he didn't clean it now. With a groan he sat up and carefully shrugged of his jacket, but when he tried to tug off the shirt beneath it fresh pain flashed across his wound. He cursed. Blood from the shotgun blast had seeped into the T-shirt and dried, gluing the fabric to the damaged skin. Something in the back of his mind told him he should just cut it all off- the shirt was ruined where the salt had gone through already- but the thought of slowly peeling back the cloth was as appealing as taking off a layer of his skin. Instead, he tried to convince himself it was a band-aid, just a big-ass band-aid that was better off than on. With a deep breath to steel himself he gripped the edges of the shirt, wrapped his arms up and tore it off in one smooth and terrible move. Dean bit back the scream he knew would come, making do with a strangled curse that came out as a grunt of pain as he doubled over and caught his breath.

"Dean!"

There was a clatter on the other bed that must have been Sam dropping the shotguns, and then a firm hand was gripping his shoulder.

"Dean, are you okay?" The older brother let out a shuddering sigh and sat back up.

"I'm good."

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Dean finished untangling the shirt from his arms and winced as his necklace dropped back onto his chest with a light _smack_. "It was stuck."

"So you just ripped it off?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Sam stepped back as his brother stood. "And now?"

"Now it hurts like hell. I'm gonna shower."

"Wait; if you don't get some of that salt cleaned out first it will all dissolves and spread with the water, and make it hurt a hell of a lot worse."

Dean really just wanted to shower, but if the pain were any worse he doubted he would be able to sleep through it, so with a weary nod he returned to the bed. Sam dug the first-aid kit out of the duffle bag. Though the wound was shallow, small fleshy openings rimmed in blood were scattered across almost half of Dean's chest, and the tackiness that had held down the shirt also kept the crystals firmly in place, making tweezers the weapon of choice. Sam worked quietly, trying not to acknowledge his brother's involuntary flinching when the tweezers bit too deep, but he couldn't help looking up at a sharp intake of breath.

"Sorry," he offered, and somehow Dean knew the apology was for more than prodding him.

"It's just salt, Sam. It's not going to kill me." But the older Winchester must have let slip more than nonchalance in his tone, because Sam's brow furrowed in concern.

"But something _is_ bothering you. Was it those things I said back there? Back at the asylum?"

"I told you Sam, I'm not worried about what you said. Anyway, you know what they say about words."

"Actions are louder."

Dean blinked in surprise. He had meant to lead Sam to the "sticks and stones" parable, but inexplicably he had guessed Dean's actual meaning. Sam took his brother's silence as a confirmation of his guess as Dean stood, wanting to escape the impending heart-to-heart.

"Dean, I don't understand-"

"Didn't expect you to." Dean was almost to the bathroom as Sam continued.

"I don't understand, but I want to. Please."

Dean stopped, and felt the last shreds of his resolve disintegrate and leave his body in a deep sigh. Would he ever be able to refuse his little brother? Would he be able to open up now, when he had always been strong for the both of them? Dean settled on a compromoise- he would talk to the lamp. The lamp wouldn't care if he sounded vulnerable, and it wouldn't be awkward because he would never see the lamp again after tonight. And it Sam overheard, well, nothing he could do about that.

"You pulled the trigger."

The words were soft, newly-born and not even strung together internally before that moment, and only by their sudden existence did Dean realize the significance behind them. Sam was still quiet, though, and seemed to need more to go on.

"I gave you an empty gun because I knew that freakshow Ellicott had been screwing with your head. If you'd pulled the trigger right off, I'd know that's all it would've been. Him screwing with you. But you hesitated." Dean swallowed. "You thought about it. Then you made your choice."

There was silence, then- "Dean, I-"

Dean turned around. "Don't worry about it, Sam. It's okay, I'll get over it. But you wanted to know, so…now you do."

"No." Sam had still been sitting, looking at his hands, but now he stood. "It's not okay. _None_ of it is okay. Dad missing. Mom and…and Jess. And this- this is definitely not okay." He ran a hand through his too-long hair. "Dean, you know I would never want to pull that trigger, right? You're all I've got left. I don't want to lose you too."

Dean dropped his eyes as if looking for his usual mask to hide behind. Damn emotions. But his brother's words had eased some of the pain in his chest- the tight part the salt hadn't touched. He raised his eyes again. "Thanks."

After Dean's shower he had passed out on his bed, and Sam was comforted by the thought that even though his brother had been hurt by his actions, Dean still trusted him to watch his back while asleep. As he drifted off, he hoped his brother might allow himself a full night's sleep for once.

Then the phone rang.


End file.
